


Under and Over it

by mother_finch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, mother-finch fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 13:05:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3979120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: Root is exhausted & done trying to start a relationship with Shaw. She tells Shaw not to worry there will be no more flirting & innuendos directed her way she can relax & no hard feelings. Although she is heartbroken Harold advises her maybe it's best to move on. She goes on a date & they connect but only as friends. Root seems happier & Shaw 's grumpy & deflated. Shaw yells at Harold & tells him why he interfered in their business & Root is hers. Root overhears everything,they talk & make-up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under and Over it

For Root, this felt like the beginning and the end.

She could feel a hole in her chest, a Shaw-sized hole. And the pain, the pain is deep and messy like shaky scissors cutting this part out of her. Her legs are like lead, her body not wanting to move towards the subway, knowing what awaits her. Heartbreak. Icy and painful and blunt.

So long, she’d spent trying and trying to ease her way closer to Shaw, never giving up the hope that maybe- just maybe- Shaw would let her in.  _I was close… I thought._  Shaw seemed more comfortable with Root’s overt come-ons, even adding onto Root’s innuendos, but after all of this, Shaw still kept Root away.  _Taking everything as a joke_ \- to her, Root’s feelings were a joke. But even that didn’t seem as painful as what was to come.

 _Maybe just one more chance?_ Root had been telling herself that for days. Give Shaw one last chance to do something, anything, to show Root’s cause isn’t lost. Each time, it only left Root more deflated.

 _‘Leave me alone’; ‘What are you, six?’, ‘I don’t know what it is you want from me, but you’re not getting it.’_ The spiteful words run circles around Root’s love-sick mind, beating her down.  _I just want a chance. A_  hint _at a chance._

* * *

 

Root’s breath catches in her lungs as she sees Shaw emerge from the subway station. Her hair is let down today; a dark waterfall rolling down her shoulders, and the light breeze picks it up and dances with it. Shaw looks the other way, then towards Root. Her eyes widen microscopically at seeing her, a shine in her chocolate eyes.  _But not for me,_  Root thinks dejectedly,  _it’s only the sun._  Shaw straightens her black trench coat, countenance indifferent as she walks up to Root. Root can feel her heart grow wings in her chest, beating against the restraints of her rib cage as Shaw approaches. She tries to swallow a smile, but can’t.

“Hey, Sweetie,” Root coos, already forgetting what her mind was set on. Seeing Shaw makes all the thoughts in her head seem so feeble. Shaw rolls her eyes in distaste, crossing her arms.

“Are you  _ever_  going to stop calling me that?” Shaw’s tone is harsh, and Root feels their sting. She gives a measly shrug of the shoulders, and Shaw shakes her head.

“You going somewhere?” Root asks, forcing her voice to sound cheerful as she switches the topic. “I can help.”

“The only way you can  _help_  me is if you cut it out with all your annoying  _come_ -ons,” Shaw grumbles, pushing past, and Root can feel the scissors cutting her heart jaggedly in two. She feels her chest tighten, and her jaw locks in pain.

“Okay, I’ll stop.” The words are soft but certain, and Shaw turns back around to gaze at her. Finally, the words have come to Root’s lips, and they hurt worse than she could ever imagine.

“What?” Shaw asks, not quite believing what she’s heard. Root swallows hard, holding her wriggling stomach tight to keep herself composed. When she speaks again, her voice is more firm and defiant.

“I’ll stop pestering you. No more flirting or names- nothing.” Shaw gives her a skeptical look over, then snickers.

“Root, you-”

“No hard feelings,” Root tells her, trying to keep those feelings in particular out of her voice. Everything feels suffocating, all the space in the world not nearly enough. “Just you, me, and the job.”

Shaw scrunches her eyes slightly, reading between the lines of Root’s face, looking for any loop hole in her proposal. At last, Shaw cocks her head to the side, triumphant smirk flickering across her lips.

“ _Good_.”

That one word alone hits Root with force; it is a bullet straight through her heart. She can feel herself bleeding, although not a drip escapes her body.  _All Shaw wanted was for me to leave her alone._  Root nods, slowly at first and then more rapidly. Her motions become mechanic, her mind shutting down, vision tunneling to a pinpoint with only Shaw in her view.

“I’m gonna go… see Harold,” Root says quickly, legs like jello as she stalks off towards the subway entrance. She rounds the corner with the speed of a run away train, almost barreling into a lanky form heading out. She skitters to a stop, looking directly into blue eyes hidden behind rectangular glasses.

 _Harold_.

“Ms. Groves, what was that-” Before he can finish, Root links her arm into his, pulling him away from the sunlight and back into the subway station’s darkness. They walk silently for a short while, finally coming to their brightly lit terminal. Finally, Root lets go.

“The  _nerve_ ,” Root bellows, hands at her head as she paces away from him. She turns smartly on her heel, eyes livid as she makes her way back to Harold. “What did I  _ever_  do to  _her_?” Harold opens his mouth to speak, but the words are shoved back down as Root continues. “Is it so  _bad_  that I care about her? That I’ve tried  _endlessly_  for her? And I tell her I will be  _nothing_  more than a co-worker, and she says ’ _good_?’ Good, Harold; she said  _good_.”

“Ms. G-”

“I should’ve known,” she says with a bitter laugh in her voice. “What would she  _care_  anyway?” She falls silent at that, as if waiting for Harold to answer. He stares at her, quiet, unsure of the answer. Root walks over to the desk chair and takes a seat, fingers rubbing at her temples. A moment later, there is a time-worn hand on her shoulder.

“I never realized how deeply you felt for her,” Harold tells her quietly, wondering if there is any way to make this easier.

“She didn’t either,” Root responds glumly, eyes glued to a spot just out of focus. “Or maybe she did, and didn’t like it at all.” He gives her shoulder a squeeze, and together they think in silence.

“Perhaps now is a good time to move on,” Harold suggests cautiously, and Root lets her hands fall to the desk top.

“Move  _on_?” Root asks indignantly, heart break evident in her smoldering eyes. “Just  _pick_   _up_  and put down somewhere else? Is it  _really_  that easy?”

“No,” Harold tells her honestly, eyes somber. “But it  _is_  necessary. Here,” he rolls her gently to the side, fingers coming to his laptop’s keyboard. “I have a friend- well, not really a  _friend_ \- but a professor at the college I work for. She’s perhaps a year older than you, but she has a great mind for computers.”

“A blind date,  _really_?” Root asks flatly as he begins to type an e-mail.

“It’s only coffee,” Harold tells her. “ _If_  she agrees.”

“What would it matter if she agrees or not,” Root replies with a hopeless pit in her voice as she leans her head against the cool wood of the desk. “She’s not Shaw.”

“It will be good for you to talk to someone  _outside_  of our group,” Harold tells her, kneeling down at her side. He is like a teacher kneeling before a preschooler with a skinned knee. Only Root’s wound is far worse than a scrape of the surface. “Promise me, if she responds, you will go.”

Root stays silent a moment, averting her eyes. When he doesn’t let her change the subject, she sighs, meeting his gaze evenly.

“Fine.”

_______\ If Your Number’s Up /_______

“You must be Root,” a tall woman with hair like fire and eyes like chocolate greets her, charming smile on her heart-shaped face. A light sprinkle of freckles dot over her nose and kiss her cheeks, and she swipes a delicate hand over her ear to pull the hair back. She sticks out a hand, and Root shakes it kindly. “Harold told me about you, he speaks very highly of you. I’m Christine.” Root smiles, the sound of her voice new and inviting. Together, they take a seat at the nearest café table.

“He’s told me some great things about you as well,” Root informs her, thinking back to earlier that morning. Christine had agreed to a date, and three days later, here they are. Harold assured Root that this mystery woman was kind and friendly, pushing Root to be confident in their confrontation. Christine laughs melodically.

“All lies, I presume.” Her cheeks pinken slightly, brown eyes catching the window’s sun and showing flecks of gold.

“I actually don’t think he did you justice.” Christine smiles modestly, hair falling back before her face like a beautiful curtain. Root can feel a cold ache in her poorly bandaged heart. How different Christine is, is like a slap to the face. So open, so welcoming, taking Root’s compliment instead of criticizing her for it. Tall and friendly, emotions easily readable. In this short span of time, Root can feel just how easy Christine is to talk to.

“I guess that’s why he’s a technology professor, and not literature.” Root smiles at the poorly executed joke.

“What do you teach at the college?” She asks.

“I’m in the Visual Arts Department,” Christine says, toothy grin reaching wonderfully across her face. “Harold tells me you work for a large software firm?”

“Oh, yes,” Root says, sitting up straighter in her seat. “I’m on a team to develop a security program. I’m pretty big on code.”

“Oh, me too!” Christine says excitedly, eyes sparking with interest. “Python has to be my  _favorite_  form.”

“I’m more of the Binary Code type, myself,” Root tells her, and a mischievous grin takes over Christine’s face.

“A girl who knows her roots; I like it.” Root is smiling in spite of herself, some of the ache dulling within her. Christine’s warmth allows some of the frigid heart break to melt away. “I’m trying to write a program,” Christine continues, bending over to rummage through her satchel. She pulls out a small laptop, then picks up again. “But I’m stuck on one piece. I can’t seem to get my variables to change in the if- the if-…”

“If-Else?” Root asks, and Christine’s face lightens in recognition.

“Exactly.” The computer trills to life, and Christine types on it quickly, eyes flickering across the screen. She scoots her small, metal chair next to Root, bringing her laptop with her. On the screen, strings of Python devour the page, and Root reads over it swiftly, impressed.

“I see the problem,” Root says, leaning in to type. In a matter of seconds, she has the errors rightened. “With the If-Else part, you just need an extra brace after the semi-colon…” Root trails off, letting her eyes travel to her right. A tingle runs down her spine, seeing Christine’s eyes on her instead of the laptop. They are inquisitive, thoughtful, and determined. Root feels a stab in her heart, recognizing the look. A look Shaw would give her when trying to figure her out.

“You’re not here for any sort of relationship,  _are_  you?” She asks, and Root draws her hands quickly away from the laptop. “I can tell something- or  _someone_ \- is on your mind.”

Root’s mind instantly snaps to Shaw, and she gives herself a mental kick. “I’m sorry; you’re-”

“Don’t be sorry,” Christine replies, a sort of relief in her words. “I’m feeling the same way. I didn’t want to tell you, though, you’re really… really  _good_  to be around.” Root smiles, a weight she hadn’t known she’d been bearing lifting off her shoulders. “I just got over a divorce.”

“A  _divorce_?” Root asks, shocked. Christine laughs at her surprise.

“I know, I don’t seem like the type. It was an  _awful_  relationship- my ex is kinda  _crazy_ \- so I’m happy to be free.” A waitress walks over, handing them each a steaming brew of rich coffee. “And I plan to stay that way.”

“I’m in no shape for anything either,” Root tells her honestly, this woman growing on her with each minute. _I could really use a new acquaintance._

“To being single,” Christine says with an amused smirk, lifting up her hot mug. Root lets out a toothy grin, stretching her mug up until they clink.

“To being single.”

_____\ We’ll Find You /_____

Root had been distant. And not the Eeyore distant, she wasn’t sad. She was elated, excited, a constant glow in her lively eyes. Shaw hadn’t seen it in some time, and the fact that the glow was never directed at her sent aggravated waves crashing through her head.  _I wanted her to leave me alone_ , Shaw mutters to herself as a forceful reminder.  _I should be happy_. But she isn’t; not in the slightest.

 _What the Hell is wrong with me?_  Shaw asks herself as they sit in the car, staking out their newest number. It had been a week since Root’s promise to stop her advances; it felt like Hell. Shaw never realized how much she liked the stupid little come-on’s Root always seemed to squeeze into their conversations; she never knew how badly she’d miss the flustered heat in her ears and the panicky jump in her heart at the suggestive and even provocative comments. Shaw even found herself holding her breath, waiting for a pet name that would never again come. It makes her miserable.

And looking across the car seats, she sees that same, exuberant glow covering Root’s face. Shaw grinds her teeth together, watching her with burning eyes.

“What’s up with you?” Shaw asks, voice harsher than intended.

“What do you mean?” Root asks, lopsided smile on her face, although not meant for Shaw.

“You’re all, I don’t know,  _different_. Like you’re doped up on methamphetamine.” Root laughs at the comparison, shaking her head. Her phone rings, and- looking at the ID- her eyes brighten.

Root’s eyes flicker across the screen, then she types back quickly. Shaw cranes her neck to the side, trying to read any of the message. For days, Root had gotten nothing but messages, always answering them with that same, happy-puppy countenance. She’d even told Shaw she had to go, a lunch to attend, leaving Shaw alone on a corner street to watch out for their number. When Shaw tried to confront her the next day, Root cut her off authoritatively.  _'We’re only co-workers, Shaw. What does my personal life matter?’_

 _We’re only co-workers_ , Shaw mimics bitterly in her mind, eyes red hot and seething.  _And Shaw, she called me Shaw._   _Not Sameen or Sam_. Shaw feels rubbed the wrong way, an aggravated tick at hearing her last name escape Root’s lips. But the unknown got Shaw the worst. Since when hadn’t she heard Root’s personal life? As far as Shaw was concerned, everything to do with the Machine was her personal life, but now there is this second piece, and Shaw is not allowed to be a part of it.

“You should really be paying attention,” Shaw snarls, pulling her eyes out the front windshield. “You  _know_ , in case the  _number_  shows up.”

“Sorry to say, but you’re gonna have to catch this one on your own.” The words send a knife into Shaw’s chest and fire into her veins.  _She’s leaving again._

Root unbuckles, one hand on the door. Shaw grabs her wrist lightly, just enough to keep her stationary. She scolds herself for the electricity that shoots through her nerves at the touch.

“Where are y’going?” Shaw asks, trying to sound casual.

“Have a date,” Root replies with a shrug, and Shaw bristles.

“With- with a guy?” Shaw asks, a slight sliver of hope evident in her neutral tone. Root smiles.

“Nope.”

Shaw can feel her stomach tie in knots, and her head starts to spin.  _A date? Like a date, date? That would explain the good mood she’s been in recently…_  Shaw feels herself deflating.

“How’d you uh, how’d you meet?” Shaw asks, too empty now to hide the dejection in her voice.

“Harold introduced us,” Root replies, slipping her hand free of Shaw’s grasp. “I gotta go, I don’t want to be late.” With that, she steps out of the car. Shaw watches her disappear down the street, feeling as if she’s losing something entirely. Something slipping through her fingers, perhaps already lost. It had never occured to her that Root would just transition to other people, especially not so quickly or easily. Somehow, that feeling hurt. It felt like being replaced.  _And maybe for a better model? Shaw 2.0, new and improved and equipped with a full range of emotions._ The thought stings, and she bites her bottom lip to keep from screaming.

Shaw begins to obsess.  _What does she look like, where is she from, where does she work? Is she open or reserved; kind or terse? How does she treat Root, does she make her happy, what do they do together?_  Her mind zeros in on the one person who is bound to have the answers: Harold Finch. She sees red at the name, enraged that he set Root up with some stranger, and her fingernails dig into the steering wheel.

She puts the car into drive and pulls off the street, mind set on the subway station, more than ready to choke the wits out of the man playing match-maker.

______\ Under and Over It /______

Shaw enters the subway like a hurricane, her footsteps are crashing waves and her angered breath the howling winds. Her eyes are black storm clouds, and a shattered halo of glass shards and hail spit out past her head.

“ _Finch_!” Her voice is thunder, and her veins pump lightning. He stands from the subway car, walking to the narrow entrance.

“Ms. Shaw, is everything alright?”

“No,” Shaw spits, spite raining in her eyes. “No, it’s  _not_.”

“What has happened?” He asks, becoming fretful. He looks around, sees Root no where in sight, and his eyes widen in mortification. “Where’s Ms. Groves?”

“ _You_  tell  _me_ ,” Shaw retorts, flaring with anger. “ _You’re_  the one who set her up in the first place.”

“ _Excuse_  me?” He says, confused. Shaw stalks over to him, leaving the smallest of spaces between the two of them. He can see every detail of her face, each individual component showing nothing but fury.

“You sent her out  _dating_!” Shaw exclaims. “You introduced her to some- some  _random_  that she  _actually_  enjoys being around.”

“How is that a problem?” He asks this dangerously, voice low and intimidating. It has no affect on Shaw.

“Because she’s  _always_  distracted,  _completely_  off focus with her work, and wants  _nothing_  to do with m-” Shaw stops, biting her tongue as a flustered red paints her cheeks. Harold’s eyes become haughty.

“ _You’re_  upset because she isn’t preoccupied with you,” he says with confidence. “You ignored her when you had your chance, and now you’re displeased that you missed it.”

Shaw stays silent, blood boiling.

“I don’t actually think it’s the relationship part you care about,” he states.

“It’s not.”

“Then what is it you  _do_  care about?” Shaw begins to answer, but clamps her mouth shut tight.  _Her_. The word is like the most beautiful sin as it sits on her tongue, holding firm in her head, but she doesn’t dare speak it aloud. “You caused her pain, you know,” he says, dropping his dark tone for a serious one. Shaw’s lip pulls to a sneer. “She spent a lot of time and heart on you. I’m happy to see her in better spirits. You should be as well.”

“Just stay  _out_  of my business,” Shaw warns, voice fatally silent.

“And what  _is_  your business, Ms. Shaw?” His brow furrows as his eyes scan to and fro to sort her out.

“ _Root_  is.”

“Good to know,” a voice from behind responds, and Shaw turns around in one swift motion. Seeing Root, smug smirk and eyes that seem to have her all figured out, Shaw rolls her tongue over her teeth, crossing her arms in annoyance. “Something Harry forgot to mention,” Root adds, walking forward with eyes on Shaw. “We’re just friends.” She shakes her phone in her hand, referring to this woman Shaw has yet to meet. Root crinkles her nose, stowing it in her back pocket. “ _Really_  good friends.”

“Does ’ _really_  good  _friends_ ’ imply benefits?” Shaw grumbles with a flare of jealousy. Root takes another step closer.

“No,” Root tells her, bringing a hand to a loose strand of Shaw’s hair, tucking it behind her ear. “I’m saving all the benefits for someone… else.” The way Root’s eyes bore provocatively into Shaw’s is too much for her to bear, and she slaps Root’s hand away heatedly. Root can’t help but smile.

“I thought you were done with this affectionate  _vomit_ ,” Shaw says defensively.

“I was,” Root replies, trying to keep the brightness from her eyes. “But I can’t help it. Jealous you is quite the turn on.”

“I don’t get  _jealous_ ,” Shaw growls, turning away from Root as her ears redden. She hears Root’s laugh, and feels the furious coils around her heart slowly unwind.

“Why don’t we talk about it over lunch,” Root prompts, hoping the offer is tempting.

“No.”

Root purses her lips, devilish fun in her eyes. She lets out a melodramatic sigh. “Then I suppose it’ll just be me and Christine. See you later, Harol-”

“ _Fine_ , let’s go,” Shaw interrupts, the woman’s name like a trigger in her mind. Root’s smile widens from ear to ear, hitting the nail on the head. Shaw walks towards the exit, hands balled into fists as she forces herself to appear calm.  _I can’t stand it when she gets to me like this,_  Shaw thinks harshly.  _She brings out too many emotions at the same time._

Shaw hears Root’s footsteps from behind, and a moment later feels a warm presence at her side. Root’s hand swings back and forth as she walks, and Shaw has to leave her arms folded in order to keep their hands from touching.

Although she can feel the calmness on her face, Shaw can’t deny the chagrin nestled deep within her. Root heard their entire conversation- or at least enough of it- to get an idea.  _But an idea of what?_  That, Shaw was unsure of, and it agitates her profusely. Shaw thinks of all the pick up lines and flirtation Root would always use on her, and wonders how much worse it is going to get now.

Shaw feels watched, and glances up to her right. Root’s eyes are on her, lively and whole, and the familiar affection in them sends a tingling warmth through Shaw’s body.  _On second thought, they weren’t too bad,_  she tells herself.  _Not too much to bear, at least._

“What are you smiling at?” Shaw freezes at the words, her lips dropping to a neutral line.  _I was smiling. Why the Hell was I smiling?_  She sees the excited flame in Root’s eyes growing, and knows exactly where Root’s mind is headed. And as right as Root is, Shaw cannot let her have that satisfaction.

“Just deciding the best way to take down this  _Christine_ ,” Shaw tells her casually, bringing her focus forward, but still seeing Root from the corner of her eye.

“Don’t even  _think_  about it,” Root warns seriously. Shaw merely gives a light shrug of her shoulders. “Sameen.”

Shaw feels a final wave of completion at that, the one thing missing finally finding its place. Confidence reemerging within her chest, Shaw gives Root a cryptic side-glance.

“We’ll see.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks @mrdth9 for helping me find the right word to use in the Python coding. I never would've figured that out without you!!!


End file.
